The Bunker Series
by Ellana-san
Summary: Collection of os in a hypothetical in-between season 4 and season 5. Life in the bunker and all it entails, how Marcus and Abby deals with their relationship as well as the new status quo.
1. A Dot Of Light

_Welcome welcome to my new collection of one shots focusing on the bunker! They will go back and forth chronologically and they can probably all stand alone. Ratings will change depending on the os but I will mark the collection M to avoid problems. I will aim for one a week =) I hope you enjoy them and thanks to akachankami for the beta!_

* * *

 **A Dot Of Light**

* * *

 _2 Weeks, 4 Days_

* * *

The bed is small and his side is plastered to her back.

She knows if she moves her head just a little, she will bump in his elbow because his hand is under his skull.

She knows it means he's likely staring at the ceiling the same way she is staring at the wall.

The bed is small, that's the thing. She's grateful for that much, of course, the clans leaders have been granted private quarters and maybe they're not much bigger than cupboards but it beats piling up in dormitories with everyone else – that's temporary, in time they should be able to make sure everyone has a place to themselves but the priority is still fixing everything they need to survive in the long run. She's grateful Marcus is willing to share if only for the ridiculously tiny bathroom attached to it. But the bed is small and there is no avoiding touching each other.

She can feel the round bone of his hip where it digs in the small of her back. She can feel his thigh against her butt. His calf against her ankles.

If she just moves an inch back, she could have felt his arm against her nape.

The darkness is complete with the lights turned off and she listens to the quiet hum of the generators that seem to always reverberate around the whole bunker. It's so similar to the Ark, she forgets sometimes. But when the humming of engines used to be comforting, this one is like a buzz impossible to ignore at the back of her head, _suffocating_.

It's difficult to adjust back to living in a box after living on Earth even for a while.

She finds it ridiculously odd sometimes, when she lets herself think about it, how a few months of living on the ground can overpower a lifetime of living trapped in metal. How quickly what was natural and familiar has been forgotten for something that's in their lineage. Humans aren't meant to live trapped in a box, no matter the size of the box.

She thinks about Mount Weather sometimes too. She has a new perspective now.

The faint humming reminds her of the Ark but it's not the only thing. Being here, sharing a bed with Marcus when things are so weird between them, when resentment and anger cloud their relationship… It reminds her of the last few months with Jake. Of the nights spent awake, not talking because that would have only led to fighting, of the sad certainty that something was broken.

She can't get over the fact she didn't want to survive and Marcus took that choice out of her hands.

They talked it out – _fought_ it out really. She cried. She explained. He promised it would get better. They hugged. He held her hand when Jackson stopped her heart – _rebooted_ her brain. They soldiered on. Focused on what comes next, together, one day at a time.

What came next turned out to be pretty much every day of the same though. She is the head of Medical. He is Skaikru's Chancellor. She heals and he mediates the numerous problems between the different clans. She slowly betters her Trigedaslang and he mentors Octavia. She tries to remember she is a doctor and he tries to pretend the weight of the people they sacrificed – twice now – doesn't crush him right into the concrete of the floor.

They share a room.

They don't share much more than that.

She remembers the days in Polis, the sweet bliss of being so in love they acted like teenagers desperate for another taste of the other, the sparkling joy of experimenting something new, something rare at their age, something _precious_. She remembers every kiss. She remembers every touch. And she wonders how they ended up sharing a bed with her hugging the wall and him sticking as close as he can to the edge of the mattress not to invade the other's space.

A lack of oxygen and disagreement on how to handle the problem reduced her marriage to that same state once but she had decades of good memories before that.

She only had a few days with Marcus and it's unfair. Or maybe it _is_ fair, maybe it's the price she has to pay for all she's done. She's not sure.

They're off kilter, that much she's certain of.

And she doesn't know what they're playing at keeping up the pretence.

They're adults, they're friends, they love each other… Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe one of them has to come out and say "hey, maybe you and me trying to have a romantic relationship wasn't a great idea and we should go back to how it was before". Maybe it's…

The mattress shifts when he turns, the move putting an end to her train of thoughts. He doesn't usually move – not unless he's asleep or he thinks _she_ is and _maybe_ she always fights to keep awake until that moment when he reaches over in his sleep and wraps his arm around her waist, _maybe_ ; maybe she lives for that perfect second in the morning when she wakes up in his embrace and she forgets everything but the weight of his arms, the smell of him and how good it feels to be loved.

She tenses for a moment and then gives in and rolls to her back, reversing their positions. She can't see him at all, it's too dark, she can barely guess at his shape, but she knows he's propped on his elbow, on his side, facing her. She knows because now she can feel his torso pressed against her arm, his shirt is frayed on the stomach, made rough by too much washing.

"I don't know how this works." He murmurs the words but he might as well have shouted them. It's so silent outside their door. Nothing but the ever present hum and the occasional footsteps of guards patrolling the corridors. "Do I have to push or do I have to give you space? I _tried_ giving you space but…" His voice trails off. "I don't know how this works, Abby. You need to tell me."

There's a hint of despair in his voice, the same despair she feels deep inside. The urgency to salvage what they can before it's too late to be mended.

"I'm lost in the dark." she confesses.

It's nothing she hasn't said before. What she did on Becca's island haunts her. It devours her from inside. It shatters her into tiny pieces she's afraid are too scattered for her to ever become whole again.

"Then let me show you the way out." he begs. His hand finds her cheek, his thumb strokes her cheekbone… She can't remember the last time he touched her like this. They've been so careful not to push since the second Culling… The thing between them feels so fragile they're afraid to break it for good. "I love you."

"I know." she answers because she does. Because she wants it to be enough but she's not sure it can be.

"Then it's a step in the right direction." he chuckles but it's not amused, it's not even cheerful, it's… Sad. Everything is sad. "Do you love me?"

"Yes." she offers without hesitation because there are none in her heart. She covers his hand with hers, presses it a little more against her cheek… "I'm sorry, Marcus. I'm just…"

It has been a lot. There hasn't really been time to come to terms with the City of Light before she has been forced to turn into a Mountain Man and _that,_ that wasn't her. That person. The things she has done. It isn't her. Not who she wants to be, not who she used to be. Emori's screams haunt her in her sleep. John's accusations. The face of the Grounder she killed. The people she sentenced to death when she opened the bunker's door and for what? _Because Marcus was on the other side of it_. It comes down to _that_ in the end. Not because it was the right thing to do – he can tell her that as many times as he pleases, she knows better – but because they had locked him _out._ And Clarke. Clarke most of them all. Clarke who is lost to her now when she could have kept her with her safe and sound if only she hadn't opened those doors.

She exchanged her lover for her daughter and now she has to live with it.

And she doesn't know if she can because it poisons everything they have.

 _Her guilt_.

"I know." he whispers.

And he does.

Ultimately, he's the one who has closed those doors for the final time.

If anyone understands, she supposes it _would_ be him.

"Do you think Clarke is alright?" she asks, frantic like she always is when she thinks about her daughter.

She doesn't ask if he thinks they made it to space. They never allow themselves to doubt that. Not him. Not her. Not Octavia. If they consider it, it will kill them. She may have lost hope about everything else but she refuses to abandon this one. Clarke _must_ have made it. Clarke _must_ have survived.

But when she thinks about her baby – no matter her age her daughter will _always_ be her baby – once more trapped in the cold of space… She wonders if being trapped is made easier or worse by the fact the box is familiar. She wonders if _she_ would have felt better back on the Ark instead of down there. She wonders if Raven found ways to make the Ring more homey.

She _doesn't_ wonder if there are seven corpses floating in a dead metal shell.

"She's Clarke." he snorts with fondness, his hand trailing up to brush her loose hair back. "She's your daughter. As long as she has people depending on her she won't let herself fail so, _yes_ , I believe she's alright."

There's such certainty in his words that she lets herself relax.

It's true, what he says. Their people need Abby and that's what keeps her going in the morning. And Clarke is very much the same way. Abby has never been good at neglecting her responsibilities. She made an oath when she was elected to the Council and she has always tried to honor it: serve their people first and foremost. She still does.

"Five years is a long time." she comments, yearning to hold her daughter again.

Five years without contact… They tried reaching out to the Ark but communications aren't working. The theory is that the building collapsed on the bunker when the death wave hit, that it knocked down _something_ … Jaha might be their chief engineer now but she misses Sinclair almost as much as she misses Raven.

"I bet you Raven will have figured out how to go home by year three." Marcus teases, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. "You will see her again. You need to have faith."

It's easier said than done.

Faith isn't something she is very good at now.

Tables have turned, she supposes.

"I don't want us to be like _this_." she confesses in a whisper, closing her eyes even as she brushes a hand up his arm and to his nape. "Pretending everything is fine just because…" Just because _what_? It would be too hard to lose him? She _doesn't_ _want_ to lose him. She wants to go back to that place in Polis when it was new and easy. They've been robbed of the _new and easy_ to be tossed right into _domestic and difficult_. "I need you, Marcus. I don't want this to die but we can't go on like this either…"

She can't remember the last time he kissed her.

She thinks it was right after the death wave, when they were fighting. There were pecks after that but nothing _real_ , nothing that has woken up the _ache_ in her belly.

They're walking on eggshells and it's time they break some eggs.

"You're angry with me, Abby." he sighs. "You blame me for saving you."

"Yes." she confirms, unwilling to lie. "But instead of _giving me space_ , you should _remind me_ why it's a good thing."

"I've been trying." he argues.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, brushes her lips against his. "Have you?"

His whole body tenses as he gulps in a shuddering breath. The hand that was still in her hair is propped behind her head as he rolls a little more fully over her.

"You're angry." he insists. "I didn't want to push."

Sometimes, it's painfully obvious that he never had any serious relationship. Callie came close, she figures, but it was nothing like a real partnership, nothing like what she used to share with Jake, nothing like what _they_ have. He doesn't know the rules, doesn't know the tricks to make it work, doesn't know there are times in a marriage when boundaries have to be tested.

"In situations like this, you _have_ to push." she counters. "I'm pretty stubborn, remember?"

He chuckles and, this time, it is _definitely_ amused. The kiss he presses against her lips is hard and she responds to it immediately, hooking a leg around his thigh, encouraging him to completely lie on her. He's still propped up on his elbows though and she tugs on his shirt to get him down only to think better of it and shove the fabric out of the way.

"You're not just stubborn. You're impossible." he accuses, slipping the shirt over his head and tossing it away from the bed. His lips find her neck and she gasps quietly when she feels the familiar hitch of his beard on her skin. She missed this. She _craved_ this. He nips the spot under her ear and she slips her hands inside his sweatpants in retaliation, gropes him. "I love it." he murmurs in her ear and she thinks he's talking about her being impossible but she's not quite sure and she doesn't quite care because she has more urgent preoccupations – like getting him naked and inside her. "I love you."

Something in her melts at those words murmured into her neck with calm confidence, with certainty.

He's right, she realizes.

It _is_ a step in the right direction.

And, a while later, when she tosses her head back, blissful pleasure washing over _everything_ , she thinks that maybe, she sees a distant dot of light in her darkness.

* * *

 _Did you like it? Let me know!_


	2. A Spring To His Steps

**A Spring To His Steps**

* * *

 _4 Weeks, 1 Day_

* * *

Medical is busy and Marcus slips between two injured Grounders – Trishanakru if he gets the tattoos right, which means they are likely assigned to the hydroponic farms and that there will be an accident report on his desk by the end of the day. It's the problem with so many people not used to working with machinery, they get hurt – which results in both him trying to find better solutions and Abby getting less free time. Jackson catches his eyes from where he is standing, tending to a burn on a young woman's hand and nods toward the office at the back of the big examination room.

He's a bit surprised she's not out there given that there are people not currently being seen too despite Jackson's and the Grounders' healers' best attempts but he reaches the open door of the office. He leans against the doorframe to better watch her, amused by the way she is furiously scribbling on a piece of paper.

Something in his chest _aches_ with how beautiful she looks.

Her hair is gathered in a messy ponytail that falls over one shoulder, her brow is furrowed in concentration and the fingers that aren't holding the pen are drumming against the table in clear annoyance. She's not even sitting properly, she's half out of her seat, bowed over the desk in a way that makes him want to just…

He clears his throat before he can entertain any real inappropriate thought about her and the desk.

She glances up, her face lighting up in surprise when she spots him. "Hey."

"Hey." he answers with a smile and then clears his throat up again because, _wow_ , they sure are being eloquent people. "Are you done with the inventory?"

Her lips twitch. "You're the Chancellor, don't you have people to fetch reports? _I_ did."

"I sent them all to the other departments." he shrugs, walking in and closing the door for good measure. "It seems like as good an excuse as any to visit."

He drops in one of the two chairs in front of the desk and takes the file she hands him.

"For the record, I didn't miss paperwork." she sighs and walks around the desk to sit in the other chair, facing him. Their knees bump together and he relaxes for the first time that day.

They've been doing better, the two of them. Their relationship feels less… _strained_ than right after Praimfaya. He's not sure they're back to the easiness they used to share, not yet, but they're on the right track. She's making efforts and he's refusing to let her pull away again.

"We _need_ paperwork if we want to run this thing." he chides her.

It's not that he's a real fan of reports and forms himself but that's how they used to do on the Ark and that's how they need to do it down here. He has problems enough trying to make Octavia and Indra see that. They need to keep on top of everything.

"You just love lurking in people's office to make them nervous when they owe you reports." she teases.

It's a gibe about who he used to be on the Ark, he figures, and she's not _that_ wrong. He used to enjoy letting people know he was in charge.

It isn't about that now though.

"We need to organize." he insists, rubbing his forehead before passing a hand in front of his mouth. It's been more or less _on the go_ for the last three weeks and he's been pressing Octavia to get the Grounders to submit to the system because that's the only way they are going to make it. People can't just show up where they feel like working that day, mostly because there are things they can't leave to chance. The farms, the aquifer filtration system, the oxygen and air scrubbers… They've been trying to assign krus to the department they would be best suited but that's not working out so well. The fact that the hierarchy isn't clear isn't helping any and the idea that each clan leader is responsible for their people with Octavia at the top of the food chain won't hold long now. People are starting to settle in this new life, it's not easy, particularly for Grounders. "Octavia officially put Indra in charge of the guard this morning."

That's at least something, he supposes, even if he hopes Indra will show restrain. There's unrest between clans and that's only to be expected. If they start stabbing everyone who try to pick up a fight… He trusts his friend though. And he hopes that patrols of an identified guard corps composed of members of all clans will help settle things even more.

Octavia's _Wonkru_ idea is a nice one but it won't happen in one day.

"What does that make you?" Abby asks.

"Her chamberlain?" he jokes. It earns him a smile and another bump of her knee against his. "I don't know, we didn't really discuss it. Aside from you and Jaha, I'm the only one with enough experience to run a place like this. I guess that's what it makes me."

Abby has never expressed any interest in taking a more active role in the leadership department, not since the lottery. She seems satisfied with running Medical for now and he doesn't want to push her too much. She advises him when he asks and for now it would have to be enough.

"Don't let Thelonious take over." she warns, her smile turning serious. "That's what he did with Clarke, you know…"

He shakes his head. "It won't happen with Octavia."

The girl doesn't like the former Chancellor and Marcus hasn't tried to convince her otherwise. He still considers Jaha a friend but he is also aware of the man's flaws. Thelonious is used to being _in charge_ , to making _decisions_ , the former Chancellor likes power and he doesn't like the fact that Marcus and Abby supplanted him.

He's not sure he deserves the right to call right from wrong but he doesn't like Jaha's methods, not anymore.

"I hope so." she offers, reaching on the desk to grab the piece of paper she has been writing on. "I have the list of people I want to keep full time." He skims it over, not surprised to find Jackson and Niylah at the top of the list. The other names, he doesn't really recognize. There are fifteen in all. She sighs. "I need more trained staff."

"Says you and Jaha and pretty much everyone else…" he snorts with no real amusement. "Is there someone from the _Boudalankru_ on your list?"

"I don't think so, why?" Abby frowns.

"Because their leader believes Skaikru is conspiring to take over the bunker." he explains. "And Indra thinks his son has a thing for botanic, that might soften him up a little."

"Send him over." she nods. "I can always use someone who knows medicinal plants."

He places the paper on top of the inventory file, short of excuses to linger longer. "I should go back to work."

She bumps her knee against his leg for the third time, prompting him to look up at her. "Kom osir hit op nodotaim."

 _Until we meet again._

He smiles, eyes twinkling at her terrible accent. She's had so many difficulties taking up Trigedasleng though… "You're making progress."

"I think I need more private lessons." she grins.

"I'm always happy to provide." he retorts, leaving the chair to step into her space, leaning down when she stretches her neck to receive the kiss. He doesn't allow himself to get carried away though. He still needs to stop by engineering and the prospect of listening to Jaha complain about everything that goes wrong in the bunker takes the fun out of everything. "Ai hod yu in."

"I love you too." she whispers against his lips. "We meet for dinner?"

"I'll stop by to get you on my way there." he promises and, with a last kiss, he tears himself away from her.

Medical is even busier when he walks out of her office.

Still, there is a spring to his step that wasn't there before as he strides down the corridors to his next destination.

It feels like hope.

* * *

 _Let me know your thoughts!_


	3. Language Lesson

**Language Lesson**

* * *

 _3 Weeks, 1 Day_

* * *

Abby is sitting cross-legged on the bed with her back to the wall when Marcus walks into their room, surrounded by various scraps of papers full of scribbles in her painful to the eye tight doctor handwriting. For a second he's taken more than twenty years in the past when she had just started dating Jake and was still studying for her medical exams and used to drag notes everywhere with her. Then his mind flashed back to those months when she had been Chancellor and her tendency to spread reports around and leave them for him to pick up afterwards.

He never understood how a doctor could be so little organized but there is no doubt as to whom is the ordered one in this relationship – for one thing, the fact that he is the one making the bed every morning and usually cleaning once a week is telling. He doesn't mind, not really, too used to do it for himself, but it amuses him.

"What are you doing?" he asks, closing the door behind him. He sheds his jacket and tosses it on the small dresser on the furthest wall, wedged between the bed and the bathroom door, before sitting down at the foot of the bed, careful not to disrupt the system she seems to have going on – assuming there _is_ a system at all.

They need bigger quarters, he muses distractedly and immediately feels guilty because at least _they_ have quarters. Everyone else apart from the clan leaders are still camping in the various dormitories. They need to solve the housing problem soon, he knows, the close quarters situation only exacerbates tensions and they're at risk of illness outbreak. There _are_ enough individual rooms in the lower levels but some are bigger than others, some are meant for single people, others for family and they need to do a census before they can dispatch them and it looks like an astronomical amount of work he would prefer to tackle _after_ he is sure every department essential to their survival works properly. Unless Octavia decides otherwise – and even _then –_ it is still the priority.

"I'm trying to make sense of this _damn_ language." she sighs, tossing the notepad aside to grab a random piece of paper. "None of it makes sense."

"You were doing better." he frowns.

Abby isn't good with languages. It comes down to that. Give her a math problem, she will solve it. Give her a medical problem, she will find a solution. But languages… He has known her long enough to be certain it has never been her area.

"Not good enough." She purses her lips in annoyance at her own limitations, her eyes staring at the wall straight ahead rather than at him. "A Grounder's appendicitis bursts before I understood what he was trying to tell me."

"Is he…" He lets his voice trail off, not quite willing to say the word _dead_. He is a bit wary with that word around Abby nowadays. He's not sure she can bear another failure and he knows with all he has that a patient dying on her will feel that way – even more so if it happens because of a language problem.

"No. I figured it out. He's alright." She shrugs but it's subdued. "I just need the right vocabulary… It is too specific…"

"Why didn't you ask Niylah?" he probes, reaching for her hand.

She smiles a little when he squeezes her fingers and finally meets his eyes. "She was busy with someone else. Medical is never empty, you know that. I can't rely on someone else to translate all the time…"

He doesn't like the bags under her eyes, doesn't like how pale she always is lately… She's tired and it's not all physical, he recognizes the pain that lingers on her face from when he meets his own gaze in the mirror in the mornings.

He's never thought of her as fragile before.

Abby Griffin isn't _fragile_ , she is strong and stubborn and fearless…

And now he fears she's a little bit broken too.

"Maybe I can help." he offers, gathering her papers to place them on the floor. She won't learn this way, not when every clan has its own accent and its own dialect. Trigedasleng isn't something you learn on paper, it needs to be heard and repeated. "Let's start with an easy one… How do you say pain?"

That seems to him like the obvious first word to learn for a healer.

"Laudness." she answers, uncurling her legs from under her. "But what _sort_ of pain?"

"Ask me." he shrugs, lying down on the bed, forcing her to fold her legs to the side again.

An amused smile plays on her lips and even if it's tired and a bit wistful, it beats the cold politeness from the last couple of weeks. He prefers it when she doesn't keep him at arms lengths. He prefers it when she screams at him and fights with him. He doesn't like the apathy, the _indifference_.

And he's glad they're past it.

He's glad they're doing better – not _great_ yet but better.

"Marcus Kane, are you suggesting we play doctor?" she teases.

He lifts innocent eyebrows back at her. Truth be told, he _has_ originally only meant to help her figuring out how to conduct an exam in Trigedasleng but now that she has put _that_ idea in his head…

"I suddenly feel _very_ ill, Doctor Griffin…" he jokes, hoping for a laugh.

She does chuckle. It's not as joyful or bright as it used to be but he counts his victories where he can get them. Her eyes are still sparkling while she quickly braids her hair like she almost always does when she is in Medical. "Let's hope it's not serious. You might need a shot."

The mention of needles has him wrinkling his nose but he gently tugs on the end of her braid. "You need to practice. I'm willing to be your guinea pig."

Isn't that how they used to do it back in the day? He can remember Jake faking illness and injuries for her to figure out when she was still in training. He remembers himself, Thelonious and Callie being forced to play along quite a few times too.

"Thank you." she smiles, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss on his lips he barely has time to respond to. Her nails scrape his beard lightly before she retreats and he finds himself smiling too, his chest swelling with all the love he sometimes think he can't bear. It feels like too much on some days, like he is too old for that sort of reckless abandon, too old to feel this way, like he doesn't deserve her or this, like… "Ha loudness ste?" she hesitates, her lips pursed in concentration, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

 _How is the pain?_

Her pronunciation is clumsy and she never stresses the right syllable but he figures it's understandable enough that Grounders will get the gist of it.

"Kudshap." he answers without really thinking about it, folding one arm under his head. He keeps his eyes on her, taking the opportunity to study her face, the new wrinkles that appeared at the corners of her eyes in the last couple of months. He wishes he could take them away, erase them with a kiss, not because he thinks it makes her less beautiful but because he knows they're from worry and stress and guilt.

She has gone to Becca's lab on his order. She has pushed herself beyond the limits her morals dictate on his order. And he hadn't understood, not until recently, just what it has done to her.

She has done what needed to be done, they both did, but that doesn't make it any easier at the end of the day.

She pauses for a second, thinks the word over… "Sharp, right?"

"Yes." he confirms with a smile.

His eyes dart to hers and he forces himself to focus again. They can't let the past cloud the present. They can't. It's exactly what has threatened to destroy _them_ in the last few week. He promised her he would show her the way out of the dark and that begins with himself letting go of his demons. For her sake. She needs him and he won't fail her. He _won't_. He can deal with his own faults later. He can keep them from her.

So he focuses, amused by the way her eyebrows furrow in concentration, tempted to run his thumb on her forehead to erase the tension…

"How do you say _throb_?" she asks. He can't help the smile turning a bit mocking, he can't help the direction his thoughts go in. She whacks his stomach lightly, her own lips twitching, her brown eyes twinkling, but her voice still serious. "Are you helping me or not? Take your mind out of the gutter."

"Kwiva." he obliges.

"Kwiva." she repeats, her eyes darting to the notepad. She's dying to note everything down, he's ready to bet. "Kwiva. Alright."

"Are you going to ask what's throbbing?" he teases innocently – if not a bit hopefully.

She ignores him.

"Weron ste loudness?" she asks next with more confidence. _Where does it hurt?_

"Hedlo." he decides after a moment of consideration. "Ai ge ponch raun hedlo koken plan."

She frowns, trying to decipher that and clearly missing his complaining about getting hit in the stomach by a crazy woman. "Your chest?"

"Stomach." he corrects. "Chest is _toso_."

She sighs and pushes his shirt up to under his armpits without any sort of warning. He doesn't complain though. He hardly ever complains when she wants to take his clothes off unless it's to stick a needle in him.

"Fine. _Toso_ is this area." she gestures at the upper part of his torso. "But what about specifics like pectoral or collarbone?"

"Collarbone is _kolkakla_." he offers after thinking it over a moment. "I don't think there's a word for pectoral though." She rests her palm on his right side and he supplies without her needing to ask. " _Rib_ is _ribkakla_."

"What about the ribcage as a whole?" she asks.

"I don't think there's a word for it." He shakes his head. "It's too specific. Maybe _lokakla_ but you should ask Niyhla to be sure."

She sighs, dejected. "I will tell you what else is too specific and for which they don't have words: organs."

" _Heart_ is _tombom_." he informs her helpfully.

"And that's the only one they know about." she points out. "They don't do surgeries."

"But now they have you." He covers her hand with his, distractedly running his thumb over her knuckles. "You can teach their healers."

"Assuming I don't confuse their stomach with their chest." she snorts and reaches for his bundled shirt. He obediently lifts his upper body when it becomes obvious she wants him to take it off. He lies back down, sucking in a breath when she straddles his hips, his hands shooting to her thighs. She knows what she is doing to him, he can tell, first because she must have _felt_ it and then because there is this little smug smile on her lips he usually loves to erase with a kiss. She brushes her fingertips on his stomach. "Hedlo."

Oh, so they're having an anatomy lesson now…

Her forefinger circles his navel, clearly waiting for him to provide information.

"Pishedlo." he offers, his voice much deeper than a few seconds ago. Her finger stops circling to head _down_ , following the path of dark hair that disappears in his pants, but when it bumps against his belt she moves it upward again until it retraces the shape of a rib.

"Ribkakla." she says and he can only nod, her pleased proud smile doing _things_ to him. His fingers flex on her thighs and it only makes her smile harder as her finger moves up. "Toso. Kolkakla." she names in turn before moving on to his shoulder. "Shod?"

"Yes." he confirms and she beams.

She wraps her fingers around his biceps next. "Hanholda."

"Arm." he translates even if she doesn't need him to. Her grip is light when it moves down his arm until it encircles his wrist and he closes his eyes under the slow caress. "Hanist." he says when she remains silent, tacitly admitting ignorance.

Her touch is even lighter when it moves to the back of his hand. "Meika." She strokes the length of one of the fingers digging in her thigh, amusement clear in her voice. "Finga." He doesn't anticipate her next move and so he sucks a breath in surprise when she leans down to nip at his neck. "Kola."

"Kola." he repeats, his hands moving from her thighs to her waist, not so subtly trying to pull her down, to create some friction because…

Her chuckles are muffled by his skin when her mouth trails down until her lips close on his right nipple.

"What about this?" she hums, her teeth scraping against the hard bud. His hips buckle up in reflex and his hands travel to her ass, abandoning all pretence of being _patient_.

"Latchon." he whispers, straining his neck to get a taste of his own but she escapes before he can do so much as kiss her.

She draws back and he watches, his mouth suddenly parched, as she loses her jacket and slips her shirt and tank top over her head, leaving her half naked on top of him. It's in moments like this that he thinks he can die happy.

She pries one of his hands off her ass to bring it to her breast and he is only too eager to knead and squeeze the way she likes. He pushes himself up and captures the neglected one in his mouth, sucking and gently nipping until he hears her soft moan of surrender. Her fingers run in his hair, tug a little.

"Tit." he mumbles, planting a kiss on her breast, in case that's what she's after, before going back to torturing her with his tongue.

"Are you talking dirty to me or teaching me Grounder language, Marcus?" she grins.

"Ai gaf yu in." he mutters. _I want you_. He flips them over with less care than he maybe should have shown. He forgets, for a second, that this bed is _small_ and not quite designed for this. Her shoulder hits the wall and he immediately tenses only to relax when her giggles fill the air, so girlish and rare that it never fails to bring a smile to his face. "Sorry." he says sheepishly, pressing a kiss of apology against her shoulder.

"Ai laik… shanen yu gaf ai in… ba nou laksen ai." she stammers, clearly searching for the right words. _I'm happy you want me but don't hurt me._ She wouldn't have been able to say that much a few weeks ago.

"Nowe." he promises, nuzzling her neck. _Never._ "Ai hod yu in."

"I love you too." she breathes back, her nails lightly scratching the line of his spine. "Get naked."

"Is that the doctor's orders?" he jokes but loses no time in getting rid of the last pieces of clothing he's wearing. She's quick with hers too and he can only hiss in pleasure once he's back between her thighs and there is no barrier of fabric between them. "There's some areas we didn't cover yet."

"I have a feeling we're about to." she replies, groping him. She likes to do that in bed. "How do I call this?"

"Yours?" he snorts.

"That's a given." she deadpans but immediately kisses him only to arch her back when he moves his mouth back to her breasts. Her skin is delicate there and he knows she will have a small rash from his beard later but he can't really care at the moment. "Marcus…" she gasps.

He doesn't know if it's a plea for more or a reminder that it's supposed to be educational.

"As." he answers either way because she's squeezing his butt.

She lifts her eyebrows, amused. "Short and to the point."

"Right?" He slides his hands from her knees to her thighs, squeezing to let her know what he's naming but very much spreading them so he has room to move. "Nila. Sai." His mouth leaves a trail of kisses down her stomach and he moves down until he reaches the soft hair between her legs. "Trapakipa."

"Cute." she comments but that ends up in a breathy moan when he pokes her with his tongue. It's a few minutes before she pulls him back up to cover her with his body, her hand sneaking between them to wrap her fingers around him, a devilish grin on her lips. "Kwiva." she observes and he doesn't even have the heart to protest her mocking because he _is_ throbbing and, at least, it's a word she will remember. "Mami."

"Should I be concerned you know the Grounder word for penis?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbows on either side of her head so he can look down at her while she strokes him. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Octavia." she smirks, the spark in her eyes telling him she's been planning to use that knowledge _just_ like this.

"Of course." He's not even surprised.

He leans in to kiss her, distracting her enough that he manages to pry her fingers away from him and settle between her legs. She moans in pleasure when he enters her and he closes his eyes, her warmth enough to make it hard for him not to embarrass himself.

On a lot of levels, this part of their relationship is still new. They had a few days in Polis – a few days they took _every advantage_ of – but after that…

Well, after that there has been _no_ time and she wasn't in any mood to humor him like that after Praimfaya and it has only been a week or so since they started fooling around again and…

It's still too new for him not to be _eager_. He's not so young anymore and it has been long enough since he had a woman in his bed before Abby. And _damn_ if he doesn't want to make sure he pleases her first. It's too good to be rushed.

"They call sex _ses op_ , in case it's something you think you should know." he mumbles after a few minutes, bumping his nose against her cheek in a teasing fashion.

The grip she has on his hair is unforgiving – it hardly ever is, she has _a thing_ for his hair, she likes to pet it, tangle her fingers in it and, from time to time, tug on it – and she has no qualm on using it to bring his mouth back on hers.

All thoughts of learning Trigedasleng fly through the window they don't have, it seems.

"Harder." she demands.

And he obliges.

They're sweaty and out of breath by the time they reach their release and he wonders if everything is alright with oxygen levels because it feels like no matter how deep a breath he takes, his lungs still burn. He rolls off her and onto his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to force his heart to beat at a more regular pace before it beats right out of his chest. He can't remember if it felt like that on the Ark, not when the memories from Polis are so fresh in his mind. He doesn't know if it's sex on Earth that is so much sweeter or if it's just sex with Abby. He's leaning toward the latter.

When she snuggles into his side, clearly struggling to find her breath back too, he wraps his arm around her and kicks around until he can get a hold of the blankets. They wriggle under the sheets, mindful of the chill in the air.

He brushes his fingers up and down her arm, sleepy and ready to call it a night. Her own fingers are tracing random patterns on his chest and it's lulling him straight to slumber.

"Thank you for the lesson." she murmurs before pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

" _Any_ time." he chuckles.

"I think we should make them mandatory for everyone." she suggests and he does wake up a little at that. Sleepy as he is it takes him a second to realize she means the actual language lessons and not the _sex-lessons_. She drums her fingers on his chest thoughtfully. "We're outnumbered by Grounders and they don't all speak English. It would make sense for us to learn. It would make communication easier. Particularly for Department heads."

It's the first time she has offered any suggestion as to how they should be doing this since they've started living in the bunker and, _of course_ , it's a really good one. One he should have thought of before. One he _may_ have thought of before if _he_ wasn't fluent in Trigedasleng.

"I will talk to Octavia." he promises. "I'm sure we can find a few volunteers amongst the Grounders to teach classes." Indra might be willing and he's sure they can count on Niylah too. "You always have the best ideas, Abby."

"We should see to the Council." she sighs. "That's what it's here for, isn't it? Advising the Chancellor?"

"We _have_ a Council." he argues. An unofficial one, true, but he dreads organizing elections the way things are right now. In a few months maybe. But for now… For now they can't afford another Pike fiasco.

If they reach a lasting peace…

If he's _sure_ it's in the best interest of everyone…

"We have me and Jaha." she points out. "I haven't been really useful and Thelonious…"

She lets her sentence trail off but he hears what she's not quite willing to say. Thelonious is eager to get back in charge. He hasn't really been invited back on the Council either. It has just… sort of happened.

"Yes." he admits.

"We should bring more people in." she insists. "Younger ones."

"Octavia?" he suggests.

"Octavia is your boss." she refutes. "And the Council is beneath the Chancellor. She can't be _both_. I was thinking… Maybe Jackson."

Jackson isn't much of a politician and he's very much in Abby's pocket but he doesn't point that out. The obvious choices, the ones who have been more or less officially _acting_ as Councilors are now all in space. He will think about it, come up with a list of candidates… Then, they can go over it.

She makes sure the alarm is set before switching the light off and snuggling more comfortably against him. It's so dark in there without any light… It reminds him of the Ark after Diana stole the dropship sometimes. They're not good memories.

He rests his cheek against the top of her head and closes his eyes.

"Reshop." he murmurs, a little teasingly because he knows it will take her a moment to translate.

"Good night." she echoes eventually, a little annoyed because she knows what he's playing at.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.


	4. Pregnancy Scare

**Pregnancy Scare**

* * *

 _3 months, 1 week, 4 days_

* * *

"I had a pregnancy scare this morning." Abby announces as she walks into the main office that is currently missing Wonkru's Heda but is sheltering her main advisor.

Marcus – who looked up when she opened the door and who had the unfortunate idea of bringing a cup of tea to his lips right at that moment – half-spits half-chokes on the warm beverage.

" _What?"_ he croaks, placing the mug down and shaking his hand to get rid of the liquid that splashed over the rim.

He's not usually that clumsy and she waits until she's sure he's not in any danger of burning himself before walking in and closing the door.

"Do we have a baby plan for the bunker?" she asks seriously. She goes straight to the electric kettle in the corner and fixes herself some tea. "Jackson and I talked it over with Niylah. Apparently Grounders use a contraceptive tea. She's checking the hydroponic farm department right now. Assuming we have the plants I would advise making contraception compulsory for every woman within childbirth age."

She turns around to look at him, taking a sip of warm water even if the tea isn't infused yet. She's looking for the warmth more than the taste.

Marcus looks stunned.

"Are you alright?" she frowns, studying him attentively. As usual, he has been working himself to the bone with hardly any breaks and he doesn't take enough care of himself.

He looks up at her slowly. His eyes are wide and he looks a bit pale. She places her mug down on the desk – on top of a pile of reports she hopes aren't important - and reaches for his neck to check his pulse. His heartbeat races under her fingertips.

"A pregnancy scare?" he whispers finally.

"Yes." she confirms, distracted. She tilts his head back and fishes around in her pockets for her small lamp torch, intending to check his pupils but he struggles against her hands. "Do we have room for babies? You need to talk it over with Octavia. She won't like it but our best bet is to go back to the Ark's policy of…"

"Stop." he demands and his voice is _strangled._ "Are… Are you _pregnant_? Are _we_ pregnant?"

She has never heard him use such a high pitched voice before and it's almost _comical._ She doesn't know what to think of that _we_ either. It tugs at strings in her heart to know as crazy as the possibility would be, he would stand by her no matter what. Not that she would have doubted that for one second if the problem _had_ arisen.

For a moment she's tempted to joke around because she doesn't think she has seen that particular expression of terror on his face since the last time she was forced to confront him with a needle. Thinking back, maybe she hasn't exactly been clear.

" _I_ didn't have a pregnancy scare." she corrects. " _My_ _patient_ did _."_

"Oh." he breathes out and it's hard to tell if he is relieved or disappointed despite his earlier freak-out.

"I still have my implant." she tells him because it's not something they ever really discussed before. "And don't you think I'm too old to have a baby?"

She can't help but tease him.

"Yes." he answers at once without a second of hesitation. She lifts her eyebrows at his quickness and he immediately backs down, nervously rubbing his neck. "No. _No_. Of course _not_. You're not _old_." He winces. "But definitely too old to be _pregnant_. Right now it would be reckless and I wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger."

Her lips twitch in amusement. "Nice save."

He finally relaxes, flashing her a small apologetic smile. "Thank you."

"I need to go back to Medical." She grabs her mug and takes a sip of tea, already on her way to the door. "Talk to Octavia and let me know if we need to start looking into contraceptives."

"Abby." he calls and she stops with a hand on the handle, looking back at him over her shoulder. He hesitates for a moment and then seems to think better of it. "We're meeting for dinner?"

She nods. "Come get me when you're done."

He doesn't stop her when she leaves this time and she doesn't know why but she feels as if they just missed something important.


End file.
